


bad luck comes in from tampa

by anatomied



Series: send our love to its reward down in hell [7]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:06:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatomied/pseuds/anatomied
Summary: Ryan and Ray really did try to take an honest-to-God vacation. In a surprise twist (that surprised no one), they weren't actually very good at it.





	

“Hey,” Ray says from the backseat of the car.

He’s still suspended halfway out of the window, a pistol dangling from his fingers loosely. It looks like it weighs nothing at all. Ryan, after six miles of speeding around Los Santos corners, the car bouncing off of and over sidewalks away from the swarm of cops that descended upon them, finally deems it safe enough to take his hands off the wheel for a minute.

He drives with his knees, adjusting their course down an alley barely wide enough to fit the car through without knocking off the side mirrors. So he turns back to look at Ray just in time to nearly get a skinny elbow right in the damn face as the sniper shoves himself over the console and into the passenger seat. Gangly limbs end up everywhere - Ryan ducks underneath a stray sneaker until Ray finally settles back into the seat. Seatbelts on, of course.

Ryan’s insisted on that since the time Gavin almost flew right out of the windshield during a heist. The squawk, he will admit, was pretty incredible. Top three Gavin noises of last year, certainly. Ray hated it then and he hates it now, yanking down the strap with a long-suffering sigh and an indictment. _Stop acting like such a dad, it’s creepy with the skull thing_. _As a former skeleton in my past life, I would know_.

Tonight’s itinerary: two convenience stores and one smoke shop. The smoke shop was for the hell of it. Ryan gets lost in the reverie for a moment. His palms sting from when he hit the asphalt outside of the second store, bullets flying and glass shattering and his whole body taut like a single live wire wormed itself into his spine.

“Hey,” Ray repeats, “you dick, pay attention and try not to get us killed. I almost ate a brick wall back there. You’re worse than Gavin sometimes, I swear to fucking God.”

Ryan’s smile falls ajar behind the mask, even if Ray can’t see it. “Worse than _Gavin_?” he repeats incredulously. “Jesus, Ray. Did two weeks without seeing that idiot make you forget?”

There is a moment of silence. Finally, Ray rolls his eyes. “Fine. Maybe I was wrong. You’re not worse than Gavin, because drunk Gavin’s the only guy who’s made it that far.”

“Is _far_ the right word? That makes it sound like a good thing, you know, drunk Gavin made it to the idiot championships, beating out good old sober Gavin for the title -”

Ray punches him hard in the shoulder. “Asshole. Cops behind you.”

Shit. Ryan curses softly and slams down on the accelerator. A bullet pings off metal. In the rearview mirror, a few cop cars have blockaded the end of the alley behind them. Two police hats poke over the top of the vehicles, pistols aimed securely towards them. Him and Ray are like fish in a barrel like this. Aggressive fish, sure, but just as easy to shoot. Tires scream against the concrete. “Ray,” Ryan says mildly, “you think they’ve got the other end blockaded?”

Ray’s reaching over to fiddle with the radio dials. He settles on something inane - a pop station. “Maybe.” He turns the dial. Country crooning fills the car and Ryan can see Ray’s expression melt into that look he gets when he sees a diet Coke for a second before the speakers switch back to Taylor Swift. “Won’t help them for shit, though.”

And yeah, okay, Ryan loves him for that a little bit. If the rest of the crew were in the car, it’d be more of a mess, Gavin caterwauling and Michael cursing his way through the dictionary, Geoff issuing orders and Jack just as exasperated at the cacophony as Ryan, the two of them sharing a look through the rearview mirror.

Ray, though - Ray doesn’t even get annoyed. Ray loves the adrenaline, sure, same way Ryan does, but he is unruffled in a way that even outdoes Ryan’s charm.

Turns out the other end isn’t blockaded yet.

The rickety old Feltzer squeals as they turn the corner. Ryan swings them right past two cop cars that skid to a halt, nearly hitting each other in their haste. Wind drowns out Taylor Swift on the airwaves. It takes them both a minute to realize that there’s two layers of Taylor Swift happening right now - one from the car speakers, and one tinny and distant. Ray’s eyes widen a fraction behind his glasses and he scrabbles around in the glovebox before yanking out his phone.

Ryan throws him a questioning glance as they approach the freeway. A few cops are weaving in and out of traffic behind them.

 _Geoff_ , Ray mouths as he lifts the phone to his ear. “What’s up,” he says easily. Ryan reaches over and turns down the radio a little, even if it was already competing with the wind. “Yeah,” Ray continues, “yeah, no, we’re back a couple days early. Tell Michael I said hi.”

Another police cruiser bursts out of a parking lot ahead of them. Ryan reaches over and snaps his fingers at Ray. Within seconds, the pistol ends up pressed against his fingers. He takes it and aims out the open passenger window as Ray leans the seat back by a few degrees with a click.

“Of course that’s us,” Ray snaps. “Who else would steal the shittiest Feltzer you’ve ever seen, c’mon, and yeah, I know we said we were going to have a nice long trip, whatever, look, shit wasn’t great in Florida.”

“We got bored,” Ryan tells him as he fires a few shots out the window towards the police cruiser. One of them sends up sparks as a headlight explodes. He can see the cop in the passenger seat visibly shout and roll down the window, struggling to return fire. Ryan gets himself a lucky shot - sees the cop’s mouth form into a different kind of yell, blood splattering out from his hand. “See that shit?” he asks. The gun ends up in the console where either of them can grab it.

Ray gives him the tiniest smile. Then back to tight-lipped annoyance. “Yes, Geoff, I know. Look. Vacations were boring, okay? We did all the shit, you know, the tourist stuff. Went to Disney World, I got a picture of Ryan in the mouse ears and with the stupid mask because Gavin asked for it. But we drove back. Wasn’t worth it. Tampa’s full of old people and hurricanes anyway, right, so who gives a fuck? I almost bought Ryan a fucking walker, he would’ve fit right in.”

“Fuck you,” Ryan snaps, sending them weaving through traffic onto the highway.

Without looking over, he can absolutely see Ray’s smirk. “He’s a little touchy about the walker thing, just so you know.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. Then he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. Even for him, navigating Los Santos highways requires focus. It’ll be easier to lose the cops here, sure, but it’s also pretty damn easy to crash right into a highway median. They swerve past some family in a sedan, the kid pressed up against the window with his mouth wide open. Even kids know who they are these days, the Fake AH Crew with stolen cash and expensive tastes.

“Okay,” Ray’s saying, “you can tell Jack we did the romantic things too, which really just means we came back to Los Santos and hit up two convenience stores -”

“And a smoke shop,” Ryan reminds him.

“A smoke shop too,” Ray amends. “Look - no, no, Geoff, I don’t want to talk to Gavin, _please_ do not put Gavin on the line for the love of God, we have like fifteen cops on us. I don’t want to hear Gavin’s voice in case I die and that’s the last thing I hear.”

Even through the wind and the traffic noise, Ryan can still hear the loud shriek of Ray’s name from the other end of the line. He laughs a little despite himself. Ray shoots him the dirtiest look he’s ever seen even as he holds the phone a good three inches away from his ear. Gavin’s definitely asking all kinds of questions from the tone and the speed of the syllables. Ray says some things back, things that sound like _we’re fine_ , and _wait what, no, Disney World isn’t that big, what the fuck_.

Ryan counts in his head. It takes thirty-five seconds and the car riding up close to the edge of the highway before Ray makes a static noise with his mouth. “Gavin, I think I’m losing you, buddy, oh, shit.” Sure enough, Ray cocks his arm back with Gavin still talking and launches the phone straight out of the window.

It bounces off into the dirt. Just the most recent burner, after all. Their actual phones with photos and things that matter are tucked deep into their suitcases in the back. Ryan laughs despite himself, a laugh deep from his chest. He’s been guiding the car towards the center of town anyway. Towards the penthouse.

Yeah, they took a vacation after the last heist. They were rich, after all, and there was only so much to spent on video games and ammunition at a time. So Ryan had suggested the cross-country road trip, carefully planning without any other crew members trying to get themselves involved. Then he and Ray had not so much asked Geoff as much as they had told him that they were buying a nice car and getting the hell out of Los Santos for a few weeks, heading east, maybe even over to Georgia or Florida. The drive had been nice. The actual vacationing - buying things, Ray on his DS in the middle of a museum, Ryan grinding his teeth watching the news as criminals who _weren’t them_ got minute after minute of free press - was hard.

After Disney World, they had both been awake until two in the morning. Ryan had finally said it.

“Want to head back?”

The noise Ray had made was relieved in a way that edged on dirty, just _holy fuck, I am so glad you said that_.

So they came back early. Los Santos was their city, after all, bad through and through, getting more fucked up by the minute. And of course they came back in style - same shitty car they left in, three robberies, and a police chase. Ray had sulked for a little bit after the first convenience store, missing his rifle because they had communally decided to not bring weapons with them. Which was a mistake, in perfect hindsight, but they could make it. Ryan had still brought a few pistols, after all. They were never completely unarmed.

“Geoff’s pissed?” Ryan asks as they slip onto a ramp towards the beating heart of the city.

Ray makes a noncommittal noise. “Relieved, I think. We should probably get there pretty fast, though, because I don’t think his blood pressure or Gavin’s heart can take it.”

The car’s not doing well. It makes a few grinding noises as they move onto surface streets. Ryan knows they can make it, though. He’s not Jack, but he can coax any vehicle to at least limp to the finish line.

He smiles again, even if Ray can’t see it. “Y’know, I bet we could hit another store. If we’re fast.”

“Yeah,” Ray agrees, reaching over to pick up the pistol. He slides the magazine out from the gun, checking the clip. “Two rounds left. We can make it on two rounds.”

Ryan chuckles. He throws his arm over the back of Ray’s seat as he turns to back the car up into a parking spot in front of a gas station. “Let’s do something stupid.”

A week later, Jack’s somehow obtained a framed picture of Ryan and Ray both with the fucking mouse ears on, probably stolen by Gavin from Ray’s phone. Michael loses it when he sees it, raucous howls of laughter, and Geoff calls them _fucking idiots, look at that, Ryan’s even trying to smile like a real human being_.

“I’m going to throw that off the fucking balcony,” Ryan threatens.

He’s smiling despite himself as he says it. Ray’s seated on the other side of the island, tapping away at his DS. He looks up just in time to catch Ryan’s smile, and Ray’s smile is a God damn museum piece all on its own.

 _Okay,_  Ryan thinks, _so good things don’t last._

Lucky for them they’re a very, very bad thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from First Few Desperate Hours by the Mountain Goats.


End file.
